another variation, cribbed from the Bangor Scout & Guide club song book


JUG OF PUNCH (3)
(anon)

As I was sittin' with lug and spoon,

On one fine morn in the month of June,

A birdie sang on an ivy bunch,

And the song he sang was a jug of punch.

Chorus:
Tu-ra-lu-ralu, (3 times)
(repeat last two lines of verse).

What more diversion can a man desire,
Than to court his girl by an open fire,
A cherry pippin to crack and crunch.
Aye and on the table a jug of punch.

Even the doctors with all their art,
Cannot cure depression of the heart,
Even the cripple forgets his hunch,
When he's safe outside a jug of punch.

The immortal Gods drink their nectar fine,
And the quality folk drink their claret wine,
I'd give them every grape in the bunch,
Just for a sip from a jug of punch.

And when I'm dead .and in my grave,
No costly tombstone shall I crave,
Just lay me down in my native peat,
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.


notes: collected from The Bangor Song Book (Bangor Scout & Guide club University College of North Wales) published Mch 1970
NP